


Dinner, and How to Throw a Punch

by lumiere42



Series: And I Ran [2]
Category: WKRP in Cincinnati
Genre: A man's cheese puffs must be respected, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Self-Defense, Spectacularly Terrible Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 14:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20175940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumiere42/pseuds/lumiere42
Summary: Bailey deals with a terrible dinner meeting, another possible looming WKRP promo disaster, and the Flytrap Course on How Not to Get Clobbered.





	Dinner, and How to Throw a Punch

She hates restaurants like Baracello's: dim lights, tinkling piano music, heat already turned up too high for Cincinnati in the fall. Unnecessary silverware. Whoever came up with the idea of multiple forks and et cetera clearly had never had to wash dishes after, she thinks sourly. Every second that passes, she feels more and more like a kid, in some ruffled dress and shiny black shoes, trying not to fidget while her parents chat with their friends or whoever her dad is trying to impress for what seems like a damn _eternity_ -

"Bailey? You awake there?" Speaking of which -

She looks up from the fish and rice on her plate. Her dad is staring at her over the little mountain of discarded mussel and clam shells on his. Carl is still focusing on prying the meat out of the crab legs he'd ordered, slurping bits out of exoskeleton just loudly enough to make her skin crawl.

"Yeah."

"You've hardly eaten anything."

"I'm just kind of preoccupied, Dad? This concert promo thing is harder than I thought it would be?" She hears the uptick at the ends of her sentences, voice falling back into the old chronic shyness patterns, and wants to kick herself for it.

Andy's voice in her head, from back around the time he'd first started working at the station: _If you have something to say, Quarters, SAY it. Declarative, not interrogative, got it?_

Dad shakes his head, but at least he's smiling. "I gotta admit, when you graduated, I never imagined it would be radio. I hear journalism, I think newspapers, y'know? You're doing well enough for yourself, though." Carl nods along with that.

"Thanks. Er, that means a lot." And it does. From Dad, anyway, she couldn't give less of a damn about what Carl thinks.

"_This_ station, on the other hand - "

_Oh, I should have KNOWN_, she thinks.

"We've been listening to it in the car ever since we got close enough to the city, and - well, honey, I just don't know about it. That morning show ... well, it'll keep you awake in the early a.m., I suppose. The DJ sounded like he was having some sort of cerebrovascular event."

"That sounds like Johnny, yeah."

"You mean the ridiculously overaged hippie with the burglar coat and the eau de marijuana?"

_Mental note_, she thinks, _tell Johnny he should wash that coat more often if even my so-square-he's-cubed father can pick up on that._ "His show is our single biggest ratings draw."

"Really?" Dad's brow furrows. "Well, it takes all kinds, I guess. Like that _odd_ little man who kept talking about hog futures. _He's_ in charge of news?"

"Les has won quite a few awards."

"So I heard. Why was there all that tape around his desk?"

"That's to mark where they're putting in walls." She's _not_ going to try to explain about Les and his imaginary walls.

"Well, it's good to know WKRP's budget is big enough for walls." Dad pauses for a sip of wine. Carl goes after another crab leg - _snap_ and then _sluuurp_ \- and she clenches her fists under the table. "Y'know, your Mr. Carlson is a very agreeable fellow, but if I didn't know better I'd swear he didn't remember we were coming."

"He has a lot on his plate all the time, Dad. He seems more absent-minded than he is."

Carl pipes up: "I hear you're working with a Negro? What's that like?"

She can't help rolling her eyes at that. "What do you _think_ it's like, Carl? It's like working with anyone else."

"Very progressive hiring." Dad cuts in before Carl can reply. "It's not happening at that fast a rate in our line of work, but radio's probably different."

"Venus was the top DJ in the New Orleans market before Andy convinced him to come work for us." Well, it had been more complicated than that, but she isn't going to try explaining that story either. Really, she doesn't want anything except to go home.

"We didn't see him around."

"He's the evening DJ."

Dad nods. "Your receptionist was very nice. Very good-looking woman. Mr. Carlson had better watch it, or some man will snap her right up, and he'll be stuck hiring some battle-ax for a replacement."

"Jennifer's very happy working for us. I really don't think she'd quit even if she did get married."

"And how about you? Are you seeing anyone?"

_And here's the OTHER inevitable question._ She briefly considers telling the truth - how the closest thing she's had to a date in the last year and a half has been going to a few movies with Johnny - but decides against it. Dad is being annoying, but she doesn't want to risk giving _him_ a cerebrovascular event.

"Not to speak of."

"What happened to that divinity student - Danny, wasn't it?"

"He dropped out and went into rehab. I think he's living in a gay commune in Maine now."

"Well, I'm sure you could find yourself a nice young man. That Mr. Travis at the station, for one. He single?"

"_Andy?_ Dad, he's my _boss_. And even if he weren't ... he's more like a big brother."

"Well, don't go brother-ing all the eligible men out of the running, honey. Even if you were an only child."

"_Quasi_-only child, Uncle Frank." Carl is smiling. "At least for the time I lived with you guys."

"That's true!" Dad points at Carl in a _gotcha_ sort of gesture. "That Travis fellow reminded me a bit of you, actually. A real go-getter, polite, too. You don't see that much in a lot of younger fellows anymore."

Something cold wells up inside her at that. She keeps her voice very deliberately steady by smiling just a tiny bit: not a real smile, enough to change the shape of your mouth to keep your voice civil. Jennifer had taught her that trick. "Dad? I think I can say with about ninety-nine percent certainty that Carl and Andy are _nothing_ alike."

Carl stares at her quizzically, and then so does Dad, and she's reached the end of her patience. "Look, I really have to stop back at the station tonight, that promo stuff is fast approaching deadline? I think I'm just going to get a box?"

*********

It takes another half-hour to extricate herself, including all the polite maneuvering needed to convince them not to give her a ride back. By the time she gets off the bus, it's full dark, sharp damp wind blowing down the street, but she doesn't mind after the overheated restaurant.

It's cold in the elevator too. She checks her watch and is distantly surprised to realize it's after 8:30 already. Venus is well into his program by now, then. Hopefully this isn't one of the nights he's decided to sneak a girl up there.

The hallway light just outside the office door is flickering fitfully again. She has to grope for the light switch in the reception area. Once she finds it, she turns up the room's speaker just enough to hear the broadcast.

Venus's voice floats out, soothing: "_Autumn is falling on the great city of Cincinnati, children, and the nights are getting longer. The great balance of darkness and light is coming into focus, and that means more time for song. This is Venus Flytrap bringing you all the right tunes for staying cozy and getting funky, here on WKRP._" Then the opening chords of Jimi Hendrix's "Angel" start, and she turns the speaker back down, smiling.

She leaves her coat in the bullpen, and crosses the hall to the little pool of light coming from the DJ booth. Venus is alone - thankfully - setting up another record on the other turntable and whisper-singing along with Hendrix. He jumps a little when she knocks on the window, but then waves.

"Hey, B.Q.!" he says as she enters. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

"Taking a little refuge from a couple of guys who would've wanted me out all night." She perches on the stool against the wall.

"Yeah, Jennifer mentioned your dad and your cousin came by. Computerized data storage? Say, do they know that Mother Carlson would never do it?"

"Oh, probably Mr. Carlson just decided to be polite anyway."

"Still, it's gotta be nice to catch up with family."

"Oh, sure. We went to dinner and played almost the whole album of Quarters Family Hits. Track 1: 'Honey, I'm Proud of You,' better known by its refrain 'Because I Always Thought You Were Too Shy and Female to Have a Career.' Followed by Track 2, 'I Think Everything About Your Actual Job is Ridiculous But I Won't Say It Right Out,' and Track 3 - it's a classic oldie - 'You Should Find a Nice Man,' subtitled 'So You'll Quit Working and Settle Down.'"

Venus makes a face. "That bad, huh?"

"Get this: Dad thinks it'd be a great idea for me to date _Andy_."

Venus actually hoot-laughs at that. "You serious?" She nods, and he laughs again. "Sorry, it's nothing personal about either of _you_, it's just - "

"I know."

"Angel" floats away into the stratosphere. Venus turns back to the equipment just long enough to check that the next song on the tape (the Bee Gees squeaking away about staying alive) is playing before turning the volume on the booth speakers down to almost nothing.

"So, the whole Hit Parade," he says, not really a question.

"Yeah. _And_, as an added and completely unexpected bonus, this time I get cousin Carl singing a backup harmony of 'Hey, You Know Your Dad Really Wanted a Son Like Me.'"

"That's rough."

"I'm kind of used to it. Anyway, I told them I had to come back here and work on the Enigmatic Bagels promo stuff, just so I could get away."

Venus starts going through the stack of tapes on the console. "Yeah, about that? We got the copies of their singles to start putting into the programming, and - do you know if Andy or Carlson or anyone, really, listened to this stuff beforehand?"

"I imagine someone would have. Why?"

"Well - " Venus pops a tape into the non-broadcasting console, and motions her over before handing her the headphones plugged into it. "This is one of their songs. See what you think."

She puts the headphones on, and then -

"Oh, _wow._" She stares at Venus. "It sounds like ... like someone put a bunch of bricks in a rusty cement mixer."

"Exactly. This is what they're calling 'experimental'? It's worse than when we sponsored the Scum of the Earth concert. At least _their_ songs fit some vague definition of a particular musical genre."

"Oh, I dunno, Venus. It ... does have kind of a rhythm to it?"

"Yeah, so do bricks in a cement mixer." Venus mercifully shuts the tape off.

"Do all their singles sound like that?"

"More or less. And we DJs get to fake enthusiasm for that over the next few weeks. Do you have any advice?"

She shrugs. "Get some earplugs and Excedrin?"

"Picking some up as soon as I get my paycheck tomorrow." Venus starts rummaging around under the console table. "You want some cheese puffs? If a certain mutant raccoon in human form named Fever hasn't stolen them, that is."

"I told him to stay out of your stuff."

"Well, I wouldn't mind if he'd just pay me back. A man's cheese puffs must be respected." Venus sits back up and holds out an orange-stained box, and she shakes her head. "Hey, you probably could've brought the Hit Parade to a halt if you'd told your pa about you two going out."

"I wasn't quite _that_ desperate. Besides, it's not like Johnny and I were going, you know, _out_ out."

"Well, if you have to pull out the big guns at some point."

She nods. The knot in her stomach has loosened enough for her to think properly again. "Hey, Venus? When you were in Vietnam, the army taught you some self-defense stuff, right? Like, hand-to-hand fighting?"

Venus looks at her strangely. "They did indeed, Ms. Non Sequitur."

"Could you ... I mean, I'd like to learn, like, just a couple of things for self-defense?" She doesn't quite succeed in making that declarative-not-interrogative, but getting it out at all is hard enough. "Like, mainly, if someone was trying to grab you? How to throw a punch that would work?"

Venus frowns. "Things okay?"

"Yeah, I just - it's a good idea to know."

"True. Tell you what, we'll have to go out in the hall for enough space for me to show you. Let me run this tape out and put on the next set - five songs, should be long enough, especially with that ad segue. Red Wigglers bought more spots. 'Cadillac of worms,' my ass. Carlson told me he used them on his last fishing trip? He says they're not even the Yugo of worms."

"Okay."

"And get one of the couch cushions from the bullpen. I'll want a shield to do this right."

*********

When Venus emerges from the booth ten minutes later, she's standing there with a seat cushion under her arm, feeling silly.

"All right," he says, after turning the hall lights on (and she feels even sillier for not doing that herself). "The five-minute Venus Flytrap Course on How Not to Get Clobbered. Two caveats. One: if someone's got a gun? Whole other story. At that point, in civilian life anyway, the Trap's advice is to just go along till you can get away. Two: if someone's after you, don't be afraid to get _loud_, okay? Yell and scream. Not just noise, but actually something like 'Help,' so people know."

"Got it."

"Now. Someone comes at you? Try never to end up on the ground. You can grab someone's shins and try to knock them off balance if you do, but it's better to not end up like that." Venus motions for her to hand over the cushion, and holds it against his chest. "If someone tries grabbing you from the front, you'd probably think, knee him in the crotch, right? Except a, guys expect that, and b, now you only got one leg to stand on."

He starts backing her up toward the wall, just enough false menace to make her waver a little.

"What you do at this point," he continues, "is you stomp on his foot as hard as you can. Don't make it a big motion. You want economy of movement. It works really great if you're wearing heels. At least, so I've heard."

She nods.

"So try it, B.Q. Slowly, don't actually stomp me, my insurance isn't paid up."

She moves her right knee in a sort of circle and slo-mos her heel into the laces of Venus's left shoe. He has her try it again, and then with the other foot.

"Okay," he says once she's done. "_However_, if you can't do that or it's not sufficient, you punch. Thumb on the outside of your fist, arm at waist height - " he waits till she does it - "then you go for the spot right where his ribs meet."He points it out on himself, or rather on the cushion. "Solar plexus. Hit that hard enough and you can drop someone. Try it."

She stares at him. "You sure?"

"Go on. Rabbit it out, just a quick jab, you don't want to telegraph it."

She takes a deep breath and slams her fist into the cushion.

Venus stumbles backward a couple of steps, wheezing slightly. She freezes against the wall.

"That's it," he says, his words a slight gasp.

"You okay?"

"Fine." He drops the cushion and stares at her. "Remind me never to piss you off."

"Sorry."

"'S cool. Now, if this had been an actual attack on your person, the moment I stumbled would be the moment you run. Preferably yelling for help as you do."

"I'm good at running." _Maybe don't wear heels for a bit, though_, she thinks.

"And if someone grabs you from behind, you do the same in sort of reverse - stomp backward to get their feet, elbow backward instead of punching."

"That ... should be enough to work with." She picks up the cushion. "Hey, you want some leftovers from Baracello's? Salmon and the good kind of brown rice?"

"You don't want them?"

"I'm not that hungry. Think of it as a thank-you."

"Sure. Those cheese puffs are kind of stale." Venus opens the booth door (A Taste of Honey drifts out this time, instructing them to boogie-oogie-oogie). "You know, we should talk to Jennifer, see if that furniture-store-guy admirer of hers can get us a deal on getting a fridge up here."

"I think she could probably get us a microwave oven, at least." 

Venus gives her a thumbs-up and then starts fussing with the console. She goes to put the cushion back in the bullpen.

It's quiet in the dim room. She stops, props the cushion up against the couch's back instead, and takes a few more quick hits at it.


End file.
